Authors: Natasja Hellenthal
‘That is part of the punishment for violating a peace treaty; in Zoltas as well. I trust his confirmation that this will not happen again. I have his signature on that. As a king he will be in serious trouble if his army violates the treaty; if he doesn’t want to face a war. But there is nothing to accomplish from warfare, other than land maybe, and riches.’
The rest of the morning they spent crossing the large open Royal Wood with Tirsa peeking cautiously a
bout her, and at noon they reached expansive green hilly fields, leaving the Royal area. Tirsa knew the way by heart, but the queen doubted and stared dubiously on her map the old woman had drawn for her. She was not at all familiar with this area.
‘If we cross these hills westwards and ascend the mountain,’ Tirsa pointed out
, ‘then we will be at the border river Dunzel by nightfall.’ Artride glanced approvingly at her. ‘I believe you are right. You have a map in your head?’
‘I have to, but I travelled so much in these parts I know it quite well by heart. Everyone can lose a map. Never trust on a piece of paper.’ She pointed at her head. ‘But this here is mostly right.’
They had a quick lunch and rest before riding off in the direction of the high rugged peaked mountains. The sky was clouded with tin coloured clouds and only occasionally, they saw a thin bleak sun. It was the kind of weather that made you sweat when you moved around and shiver when you rested. Artride gave her guard the signal to return while the two of them pretended to head north.
The remaining day they spent crossing the first mountain range that was a natural border
, with the only land lying to the west; Dochas. Eventually it stretched all the way to the sea; a sea no human had ever seen –; no human outside of Dochas that was; if the stories were right about no men living within its boundaries, save for the sorceress, if they were to believe the old lady.
It was not reachable by boat either
, as if it was magically protected, ships had never been able to sail the waters around Dochas. Was this mysterious, clearly powerful person, if she was responsible for all this, even human?
Besides, from fear of the
Magical Land, people did not easily climb these mountains either to reach it; for it was very steep and treacherous indeed, and no one ever did make it back.
As they made their way t
hrough the pass, crossing one ridge after another, the two women were quiet and concentrated. Their mounts were sturdy, but had a hard time with the rocky and muddy path. Only a few weeks before, the snow had begun to melt in this area and as a result, there were many small streaming rivers and slippery soil, and moreover, loose rocks. There were even vast lakes in the mountain meadows with flocks of all kinds of water birds.
Here the air was pregnant with springtime; they could smell its sweet
, fresh scent rising from the mixed woods below them and the grassy mountain meadows. There were many tiny bright flowers with thick or prickled leaves, growing in the watery area and other plants that adapted themselves to the constant wind. The flowers already attracted early butterflies with colourful fragile wings and humming bees. Tirsa’s horse faithfully climbed on and on whilst she stood up in her saddle, making it easier on her to ascend. And she thought about the old advice from a horse to its rider from an old tale she once heard: ‘Do not make me run down a decline, do not urge me going up a hill, but spare me not on level ground.’ She had made her own version of that; ‘Uphill spare me; downhill bear me; plain way, spare me not; let me not drink when I am hot.’ Tirsa always treated her horse kindly and with respect.
When they reached the highest top, the view was breathtaking. Ceartas was nothing but green woods
, both broad leaf and pine with its lowlands in the distance. When they looked in the direction of Dochas, it was also nothing but woodland, except for the high, snow-capped mountains rising like a grey and white wall behind the woods. The border river lay well hidden down beneath the canopy of leaves. The sky was not clear enough to see all the way to the ocean, which at a rough estimate lay a dozen days travel away.
On the mountaintop they found a cairn of small rocks, which was unmistakabl
y made by other travellers marking their presence.
Sometimes the two of them spoke a few words or exchanged a look
, no more. The commander and the queen felt minuscule in this dramatic landscape.
Descending the mountain was a lot easier and quicker for the horses
, although they still had to pay attention to the ground beneath their feet. In the afternoon, they left the mountains behind and entered a huge, dark ancient pinewood.
Tirsa stared at the enormous pine trees
, unable to see their tops, and their branches were covered with so many green needles no light could ever reach the damp, cold brown floor.
‘Amazing
,’ was the only thing Artride could say.
‘I have heard about these woods; some call it the
Silent Place,’ Tirsa started in a calm voice. ‘For they say no sound can be heard from within. Every sound you make is caught and swallowed by the trees.’
Artride
turned to Tirsa, looking a little frightened. ‘But we haven’t even reached the Magical Land yet.’ Tirsa gave her a mysterious look as she responded, ‘Who said no magic can be found outside of Dochas?’ and softly urged her horse to ride on with a soft dig of her heels, leaving an astonished queen behind.
‘Commander wait.’
They rode side by side, crossing the
Silent Place and Artride whispered as if to comfort herself, ‘This is not that different from any other pine wood; at least it smells the same as any other!’ She breathed in deeply the sweet smell of needles and resin.
Occasionally a single small sunbeam managed to break through the thick-needled branches and those transparent misty sunbeams did seem magical indeed. Artride rode through such a beam
, and its pale, white-bluish light shone on her hair, clothes and delicate face, while she looked around in amazement. She looked very much like a ghost.
Silence; absolute stillness, other than the sounds they made, the hooves of the horses and their occasional breezes. Where could you find this outside in the wild? And in springtime while everything burst with life? No birds, small mammals, rustling of leaves, no activity whatsoever. It did seem odd to them, and made them feel a little uneasy as they urged the horses to ride faster.
Why does it frighten us so much?
Artride thought.
Because it is unnatural? This is a wild wood; no human interference, what is more natural than that?
Tirsa thought she found the answer
:
We are not used to complete silence. At this moment we are completely one with ourselves for there are no sounds to disturb us; covering up our true self, and our own voice. If you are scared then you fear your own inner voice, which is you!
She could hear her inner voice so clearly as never before, almost like someone else was talking to her. It was like meditating really, which she used to do when she was younger, though only if she could block out her own thoughts, and that wasn’t always easy. There was emptiness inside of her and she could actually hear her own blood rushing in her ears. When she looked at Artride’s face; she could see she was turned inward as well.
‘Do you think,’ a few moments later Artride wondered out aloud, trying to break the almost deafening silence
,‘that the gods can hear us when we speak in this forest?’
Tirsa did not know Artride to be a religious person, considering the fact that the Royal Family saw
itself as divine. At least that was how it used to be, she was told.
She
patted her horse on the side of the neck and thought about answering her question a brief moment later, ‘If they, or any divine being can hear us, this will be the place for it.’
Artride smiled thankfully back, with both her eyes and mouth. ‘Th
en I suggest we state our business out loud and pray out loud, so it knows.’
Tirsa pierced her lips tight as if she was not sure about that.
What if someone else hears it?
But then she thought whilst glancing around,
Who? We are alone here!
She finally nodded; not wanting to oppose her.
‘Give me your hand
,’ Artride suddenly demanded in a friendly manner.
‘My Lady?’
‘Your hand, please Tirsa. If I can call you by your name that is.’
Call me by my name, why would she want to do that?
Reluctantly she stretched her hand and nodded. Artride took her hand gently in hers and closed her own warm fingers around her cold hand, shutting her eyes while she cleared her throat. ‘Holy Spirits, please hear us
, your children Artride Ceartas and Tirsa Lathabris.’ No titles were mentioned; Tirsa guessed Artride knew that that was of no importance here.
Tirsa winced when she spoke her name aloud, in on
e sentence with that of the queen. All of a sudden, it was so real; as if she, as a person, her identity was somehow acknowledged now that her name was spoken aloud by the queen and addressed to the Holy Spirits by her. All mighty beings.
Suddenly it was all a little too much for her; her hand in that of the
queen, someone she had always despised for her lack of backbone, but who had turned out to be more of a real queen than she had ever thought she would be. In standing so close to that powerful woman, smelling her light blossom perfume that made her feel drugged, she had to act strongly.
‘We do not ask much
,’ Artride continued, almost whispering. ‘Let us find the one person, please, who can undo the powerful curse on the Law Book of Ceartas. Let this being help us to help our land and its people be free of the curse. Guide us on our journey. Thank you.’
Tirsa stood motionless staring at the
queen who bowed her head in respect. She suddenly opened one eye and locked it onto hers. Quickly Tirsa shut hers. She could hear both their breathing; maybe if she listened closely enough she could hear her own heart beat, maybe even that of the queen!
Artride breathed in deeply as if to catch the moment, it sounded very close. Her ears hurt from the silence; it was closing
in on her mind in an increasingly unpleasant way.
‘We’d better go.’ Tirsa let go of her hand
reluctantly.
They mounted their horses
, riding through the abnormally silent dense forest for a few more miles, before it got lighter again. They reached a mixed wood and heard a Nightingale sing his melodious song. They both smiled, relieved, and had to admit they had felt a little trapped; as if the tree trunks and their branches had been bars of a large prison with endless walls.
‘We have to keep the sun ahead of us. That looks like a small track we can follow, my Lady.’
‘Fair enough, let’s go,’ she enthusiastically announced.
On one occasion they crossed a rocky valley surrounded by high cliffs and rode aside a large flock of small reindeer. They did not seem to care about the two horses with the two women at all, aside from a little curiosity and watchful eye.
At nightfall, which was almost as dark blue as the cloak of Artride, they discovered the constant rush of water between the trees. ‘The river!’ Artride called out in pure joy, she jumped off her horse and began to run. Tirsa followed her with the horses at a slower pace.
Ducks flew away
, their wings flapping and together they watched them take wing and vanish from eyesight.
‘If only we could fly
,’ Artride sighed longingly.
It appeared to be a broad
, fast flowing river and Tirsa knew it was the Dunzel; the border river. She stared at the riverbank. ‘I hope the bridge is not too far away. It might be safer not to camp too close to it anyway.’ So they decided to stay overnight at the sheltered riverbank.
Tirsa was busy unsaddling the horses and caring for them
, and did not hear Artride’s humming. She noticed her drink the fresh, cold water and splash water in her face. Tirsa walked over to the river with the horses to let them also drink.
Soon afterwards, Tirsa gathered branches, grass, moss and leaves to make some sort of shelter in case it rained during the night.
Artride offered her help, but Tirsa shook her head.
‘Absolutely not. You rest while I do this, my Lady.’
‘Please, stop calling me that, Tirsa.’ She looked up from her work and asked in a calm, but slightly mocking voice, ‘Should I call you
“Highness” then or “Majesty?”
like Jaromir…
Artride was stunned and twisted her mouth in agony, but did not remark. Her face had said enough. It had hurt her, clearly
, and Tirsa flushed a little, turning her face away. She was sorry and promised herself she would not upset her again.
As Tirsa was making camp
, Artride cared for the horses, examining their hooves, cleaning them and feeding them with forage. When Tirsa had finished making their shelter, located between two trees, she started scavenging for firewood. She came back with an armload of old sticks, and with flint and steel from the pouch on her belt she made sparks that fell on the dry kindling. Preparing dinner on the campfire also went professionally and fast. Artride brought her some dried herbs to add to the broth she was making, to be of use. It was getting cold at the riverside, therefore Artride sat down on a blanket she had spread in front of the warm glow of the fire, staring around at the cosy shelter, and pots and pans.